


Five Times Ignis is Left Stumped

by ghostl0rd



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Crack, Fluff and Crack, Friendship, M/M, Mild Language, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostl0rd/pseuds/ghostl0rd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>alternatively; how the resident strategist grows to take a certain ball of sunshine seriously</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Ignis is Left Stumped

The first time was when Ignis had gotten sick.  His symptoms weren't so terrible that he needed to be confined to his tent: just a temperature running a little higher than normal, and a scratchy throat, but with Niflheim breathing down their necks he couldn't risk the whole team getting infected.  So, with Prompto volunteering to take over cooking duty, Ignis had been relegated to instructing and hoping for the best.

The dish Prompto learnt that evening was a hearty chicken soup— ‘hearty’ because Prompto had ‘put his whole heart into making it’, Gladiolus joked, for it did turn out rather bland (nothing a little extra salt couldn't remedy however).  Noctis had no comment to offer, except to thank Prompto with a clap on the back because his bowl hadn’t come with any vegetables.  In fact, Ignis was now realizing as he stared into his own bowl and poked around, he was sure _his_  bowl was one hundred per cent vegetable.  The two observations had to have some causality.

“Prompto. . . ”

“No worries,” Prompto said.  He took Ignis’ empty bowl and replaced it with a steaming cup of lemon tea, sweetened with honey.  “We got the dishes covered—you just rest, okay?”

“No, it’s not that—I noticed I didn’t get any meat in my soup,” Ignis said, trying his best not to sound confrontational.  Prompto was trying, and he didn’t want to discourage the kid from any attempts in the future.  He also didn’t want Gladiolus getting on his case about it, too.  “Everyone’s meant to get an equal share—”

“Oh I know,” Prompto interrupted cheerfully, one hand waving it off.  “But out of all of us I figured you’d need the extra boost in vitamins.  You know, seeing as you’re sick and all.”

(So that marked the first time.)

“I. . . thanks, Prom.  I’ll try my best to get better as soon as possible.”

“You’re welcome.  Though really, the true hero of this story is Noct, seeing as he was the one who selflessly decided to offer up his vegetables in exchange for your meat.  But don’t worry,” Prompto added before Ignis could protest, voice lowering to a whisper. “A good majority of her majesty’s broth was vegetable puree, anyways.”

All Ignis could think as he stared up at him from his folding chair was, _huh._

(This was the second time.  _Two wyvern with one stone_ , the saying went.)

 

~

 

The third and fourth times saw Ignis one afternoon with his head bent over the map of the Duscae region spread over the bonnet of the Regalia, marking different routes with a red marker.  It paid to take the most fuel efficient and relatively hazard-free route, complete with rest stops, so finding one had been his mission for the past half hour.  In the rolling grassland behind him Gladiolus was drilling Prompto on evasive manuevers, and Noctis was predictably, fast asleep in the backseat.

“Oh Iggy!” Prompto called, in an irritating sing-song voice. 

“What,” Ignis grunted, measuring the distance from one point on the map to another with a ruler.

“Iggy man, get over here, Prompto needs a test dummy.”

“I thought _you_ were his test dummy,” said Ignis. 

“I just wanna see if anything’s managed to stick, that’s all.”

“If you have to say _that_ ,” Ignis said, typing out calculations on his phone, “then it really means _you_ weren’t paying attention while _you_ instructed him.”

“ _Ooh_ ,” Prompto crowed. 

“All the more reason for you to get over here, then,” Gladiolus called.

Noctis shifted onto his side so that his whole body faced the wall of the backseat, hands coming up to cover his ears. “Yelling. . .too much,” he mumbled irritably.  “All of you. . . shhh. . . ”

In just a few short moments while the rest of the gang stared in silence, he was fast asleep and snoring again.

“Come on, Iggy!” Gladiolus said. 

“Yeah, come on Iggy!” Prompto parroted.  “It’s not like _you_ got anything to lose. . . well,  except your _reputation_ , Mr. Knows-Everyone's-Weaknesses-And-Uses-Them-Against-Them,” he snickered.  

Ignis rolled his eyes.  “If _you_ think _I’m_ going to be baited—“”

“Ooh nice I think you’ve made him angry,” Gladiolus snickered.

“I’m _not_ angry, I’m—” Ignis quickly rolled out of the way just as a spear impaled the ground where he’d been standing previously.  He stared, wide-eyed at the culprit, still lying with his back to him in the Regalia.  “Did you just—”

“Shhh!” Noctis growled.

“See, even Noct agrees!” Prompto called. 

Ignis folded the map away into his pocket and started through the grassland toward them, determined to make the two regret ever calling him over in the first place; the order didn’t matter to him.

Arriving in front of them, he crossed his arms.  “Now, what is this about?”

“Easy,” said Gladiolus. “First person to knock the other onto their back wins.”

Ignis took one look at Prompto, sweaty with dirt lining his brow and began rolling up his sleeves, tightening his gloves.  He looked sufficiently tired out.  This wasn’t going to take very long.  “Is that all?”

“Well, for the most part,” Prompto replied.  But even as Ignis took his stance in front of him, he didn’t move his body into position. As a matter of fact, he was _frowning_. 

Ignis just _knew_ he was going to regret asking. “What.”

“You should take off your shirt.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“So you don’t get it dirty like us,” Prompto shrugged.

Of all the nerve. _First they call me all the way over here, and then—_

Prompto pointed at his shirt, expression completely solemn. “Wouldn’t want that to get dirty, would we?”

"Why do you care?"

"Nothing, I just do."

Ignis stopped listening and just charged. 

It had been exactly what Prompto had been gunning for.  The moment he closed the gap Prompto grabbed hold of Ignis by his upper arm, grinning.

_“Gotcha.”_

The entire world tilted on its axis, Ignis flying over Prompto’s shoulder and landing heavily on the ground on his back, all the wind knocked out of him. 

(This was the third time.)

Prompto pulled Ignis to his feet, still smiling as Ignis grunted and dusted himself off.  He squeezed Ignis' shoulder.  “Thing is, Iggy, we’re running low on the special detergent you use on that shirt, and because the nearest town is so far away—”

“Why do you care about _that_?” Ignis said, eyebrows rising in incredulity.  

“Well, it’s your favorite shirt, isn’t it?  Lilac with the jacquard stripes.”

(This was the fourth time.)

Jacquard stripes.  An oddly specific way to describe an article of clothing, Ignis thought, and not the kind of vocabulary he thought the latter had lurking around his head.  “Prompto, there’s a _war_ going on.  I think getting a shirt dirty is the least of my problems.”

“No it’s not,” Prompto said. “That shirt _means something_ to you if you’ve been so careful with it all this time.  You’ve had it since me and Noct graduated from highschool.”

He _remembered?_   “And?”

“And so I figured it must be your favourite for a _reason_. Maybe it was a gift in celebration of something, from someone you care deeply about because it's hella expensive.  But most importantly, it’s something from _home_.  Something that reminds you of home.  Noct’s got his old man’s ring, I’ve got my camera, Glad’s got his muscles—”

“Oh piss off,” Gladiolus chuckled. 

“But you _do_ have muscles—”

“Piss _off_.”

“But. . . ”

Ignis sat back down in the grass and watched them bicker, shaking his head.  That would be the last time he ever made fun of that little greenhorn.  Noctis materialized beside him while the two continued to squabble, letting out a yawn as he stretched his arms high above his head. 

“He bought you another one, you know,” Noctis said. 

“Another shirt?” Ignis turned, surprised.

“Yeah.  For your birthday.  Well, before everything went to hell, anyway.  He took out a couple of odd jobs on the side to pay for it.  ‘Lilac with the jock stripes’ or something.” Noctis smiled at the memory.  “He did his research, wanted to get the right one. I kept telling him to get you something in a _different_ color but he wouldn’t budge. You know how it is.”

Actually, Ignis was only _just_ starting to.  “. . . yeah.  I suppose.”

(And therein, lay the fifth.)

* * *

**-fin-**

**Author's Note:**

> ~~and then Ignis' favorite shirt got stained with Prompto's blood as the latter lay dying in his arms, and from that day on Ignis never paid the shirt the same amount of care and never washed it ever, again.~~


End file.
